Chapter 19 #2
Darcy looked at both Mr Balfour and Mr Utterson. “Is it worth it to keep watch over the possible desecration of the dead, especially those long dead? The ground is dry enough to reinter them soon, now that they all have new coffins.”
“It is hardly worth it to have anyone lose sleep keeping watch over a few waterlogged bodies,” Mr Utterson agreed, nodding his head. Both Hester and Mr Balfour looked rather ill.
Elizabeth watched their conversation, thinking how unlike Darcy it was to mention such harsh truths in mixed company.
“Is there no one to claim the unearthed dead?” she asked.
“Most are older, since they are from the section of the churchyard nearest to the river, and there are no relations still living to reinter them. The parish shall take on the expense to rebury them in the next day or two, along with the last flood victims who could not be taken home.”
“Do many bodies remain in the deadhouse?” asked Mr Utterson.
Darcy seemed to think, but Elizabeth suspected he knew exactly how many, as well as their names. “Oh, maybe four or five disinterred bodies, and only two left from the storm.” He looked round at everyone. “Ought I to send a man to make sure no one takes their trinkets or shoes?”
“Oh my,” Hester said, paling.
“No,” Mr Balfour said firmly, with a worried look at his sister. “I cannot imagine anyone stealthily picking their way along the lined-up corpses. Now, some music? Hester, I think we all wish for an early night after our long ride, but perhaps you could give us one song?”
Hester all but ran to the instrument, and Mr Balfour and Mr Utterson decided to play cribbage before going to bed.
“Miss Bennet, a turn around the room?” Darcy said pointedly. “It seems it shall be an early night.”
She rose and took his arm, and he asked quietly, “I need you to retire early and convince Mrs Lanyon to do the same. Then we can see if this will work.”
In conversation, Darcy looked a person full in the face; he was deliberate in action and in words. She realised all of that was said with a purpose. “You are encouraging him to steal,” she whispered, “to catch him in the act.”
He nodded. “Like you said earlier, maybe I will catch the murderer stealing again in Lambton.”
“When I said you, I meant a constable in the village, and I never considered anyone stealing from the dead.”
“The clothes, the jewellery on the bodies, all of it would earn a few guineas from a pawnbroker.”
“But your cousin might return from Buxton or Matlock late tonight with evidence.”
“And he might return with nothing,” Darcy muttered. “If someone is caught stealing from the dead, and we go to Mr Birch with the belief that Carew’s ring was stolen from her body, it will strengthen the cause to hold an inquest and connect the theft to the death.”
“Finding her stolen ring in a pawnshop would be better,” she said when they were farther away.
“Both would help us, do you not think?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, it would. What shall we do?”
“You and Mrs Lanyon retire, and I shall claim to do the same,” he whispered. “Balfour and Utterson will finish their game. Before that, I shall wait in the deadhouse to catch him in the act.”
“Why not just follow him from Pemberley?”
“There is nothing against the law in leaving a house at night. And if he notices me following and gives up? I need to see him commit a crime.”
“You are certain one of them will go forth in the shadows of the night to plunder the dead?” She shuddered. “That is heinous.”
“So is stealing from people who have lost their homes. So is striking a woman with a candlestick.”
When their turn around the room brought them farther from the others, she asked, “You still feel that it is Mr Utterson?”
“My feelings do not matter,” he said, “but yes, I think he did it, and I intend to catch him.”
“Shall you bring a few men with you?”
“How could I without alerting everyone? If there is a hint of a group coming from Pemberley, he will know it, and it might put him off from trying.” He dropped his voice.
“The villagers would know it too. Remember what nearly happened at the Pemberley Arms. What will a crowd do if they discover a man looting their dead?”
“They will drag him before the magistrate, which is what you want.”
“And I want him to be alive when he gets there. A resentful crowd may be tempted to carry out their own justice. I will go alone and wait for him.” Elizabeth gave him a worried look. “He is not going to murder me, my dear.”
“Carew undoubtedly thought the same,” she muttered.
Darcy looked pensive as they walked. “I shall bring a pistol to ease your mind. I need only catch Utterson in the act so I can be a witness and convince the magistrate. When we recover Carew’s stolen ring, it will all be enough for an inquest.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, and took both of his hands in hers. If anyone on the other side of the room saw them, they might think they were lovers offering endearments and promises. “You must be careful. Someone killed Carew.”
Darcy did not tell her she had nothing to worry about.
He only nodded before kissing her hand and pointedly telling everyone he was rather tired and to have a pleasant evening.
Elizabeth put on a smile for the others.
Darcy had asked her to be certain Hester was out of the way for the evening, and she would do that.
But he is mistaken if he thinks I am going to hide in my room until morning.
To avoid anyone noticing him leaving, Darcy bypassed the stable and walked to the village.
Twilight had faded and, although it was too dark to bring out his watch, Darcy knew it must be ten o’clock.
He walked to Lambton by memory, skirting along the stream for most of the way.
His guests would travel north soon, and if the thief was tempted to steal a few jewels that none would notice missing, he had to act now.
As he neared the village, he checked the carriage pistol he took from the gunroom.
He had at first thought to bring the smaller pistol he carried when he rode alone a great distance, but for Elizabeth’s sake he took this larger one.
It usually sat under his seat in the coach, and its pair in its case with the coachman.
It scarcely fit in his frock coat pocket, but he had promised.
He did not expect to need it; all he had to do was observe Utterson and then report what he had seen to the magistrate.
But could I observe him and not confront him?
His father had instructed him not to draw a weapon unless he had sufficient firmness and self-possession to fire it.
To preserve his family’s safety, for Elizabeth’s, he could certainly use it.
He felt its weight. An eight-inch, single-barrelled pistol, long enough to be moderately accurate, and relatively stable; he had never once had to draw it.
The village was silent as he passed the Pemberley Arms to the school that housed the coffins.
Darcy collected himself before opening the door.
Three large blocks of ice packed in straw had been delivered, and there was a noticeable difference in temperature.
The tables were pushed to the centre of the room and six coffins lay across them.
The bodies awaiting burial or reinterment had been arranged by size, from a stalwart man to the body of one helpless child.
He had seen them when they were first brought in.
Some had been mostly bone and tattered outdated dress, and those faces had been much easier to look upon than the recent victims. There were labourers with plain dress and coarse shoes, and the finer clothes of a gentlemanly man, and two women shopkeepers who had drowned during the storm.
He was doing more than protecting their jewellery from being pawned for spending money. He was protecting their dignity, and protecting anyone else from suffering the same degradation.
Darcy looked at his pistol again, half-cocked, as he leant on the same wall with the only door in the corner, so whoever entered must pass him unseen to begin his ghoulish work. He could not stop the villain before he began; he had to witness him in the act.
Whilst he waited in the dark, all he could think on was what if the thief did not yield.
He had the right to defend his property and his person, but that did not make it easy to fully cock his pistol and fire it.
The courts would find that whomever he shot had been the aggressor, and that he acted in self-defence.
He certainly had the skill to fire and hit his mark, but could he use it?
What if Utterson refused to cooperate, or threatened him, or said he was leaving and taking what he had stolen?
Do I have sufficient nerve to aim at my friend and pull the trigger?
Elizabeth was certain that by now Darcy had left for what had become a temporary la morgue.
Every moment of taking no action brought her fresh agitation, and only by going to Lambton herself would she have any tranquillity.
Even as she changed her shoes and put on her spencer, she knew Darcy would be angry if she walked the same path alone, at night, that Carew had been murdered on in broad daylight.
Mr Utterson had struck Carew down with a candlestick. A shudder passed over her. If Darcy listened to her and brought a pistol to the village, she ought to do the same.
The gunroom was about twelve feet square, had a fireplace, and cases and drawers along two walls for every item related to fishing and hunting.
The room smelled faintly of leather and the tallow for oiling weapons.
Several double-barrelled shotguns hung near to fishing rods, and two pistol cases were open on a table next to an Argand lamp.